Who: Ensemble production, all individuals who opted in to the plotWhen: July 9-21Where: Two inhabited planets around the IngressWhat: The demon plot kicks off, in which malevolent shadow beings, copies of existing characters, begin to materialize and harass the PCs across the worlds. Plotting post is here, and a network post will go up within the next 2 days from several PCs advising on how to end the plot.Warnings: Violence, psychological themes, possibly past trauma, etc.

Death of Grinding MadnessThe Demon Plot(mild spoilers for The Raven Cycle)

It's innocuous in the beginning. A movement in the corner of your eye, a shadow through a curtain-- merely a tree. But then the shadow figures begin to emerge into full being. Black-eyed wraiths that look like enemies, friends with whom you've had past conflict, or even you yourself. At first, it's merely harrying, minor harassment. Threatening gestures, broken gestures, jump scares.

Pursue them, and they disappear-- you might even catch a glimpse of how. They melt down into black slime, racing away across floors, through sewer grates, up walls, impossible to follow. By now, the worst of the climate freeze is over, but residual ice does pose a needles extra obstacle.

July 12-15The Violence Escalates

In the days that follow, the situation only gets worse.

Sporadic harassment turns into outright attacks. The targeting is unmistakable. The shadow beings who can speak tell cruel tales of animosity, spite, even hatred. They are as deadly with their hands or strange powers as their doppelgangers are, and worse, they're functionally indestructible. Rip off one's head and it merely reforms out of sticky black ink. Limbs regenerate just as easily. The being might dispell for a few hours, but no doubt— it'll be back, if not to hurt you then someone you know.

The Savrii begin to notice. It's hard not to. While there is hardly an epidemic of panic, the disruptions are hard to miss-- broken windows, screams, random violence. Soon, the authorities begin to open safehouse facilities at which characters can seek shelter.

July 15-18The Golem

On July 17, something horrific begins to happen— several shadow beings merge to form a massive golem in Kauto R1. It is a grotesque, horrifying spectacle, of limbs and eyes and pulsating flesh. It reaches almost sixty feet in height. Combined together, this shadow creature is considerably less intelligent than the individual beings were. However, it is also immensely strong and regenerates just like the smaller ones did.

Within the mall, hundreds of daytime shoppers are trapped within. Luckily, they have food and climate control. Perhaps you're one of them-- or perhaps you're trying to get in to provide medical care.

In the meantime, the attacks from the individual shadow beings don't stop. Despite the intelligence exhibited by some, all of them seem mindlessly bent on tormenting their targets until they are killed.

July 18-21The Sacrifice

On the 9th day, a network post goes up (link pending, will be OOCly forward-dated to July 10th latest) revealing how to remove the invincibility of the attackers.

And by the 21st, the remaining beings utterly vanish without explanation— unless you happen to bear witness to the events that take place at St. Monmouth.

CLOSED PLOT THREADS

closed to mattew;

It's July 18th, and chaos has been cropping up around the worlds for days. Harassment, attacks, people discovering heretofore unknown twins who dissolve into black smile. Perhaps Matthew had guessed that it was only a matter of time before misfortune found him too... but probably not. Let's be honest: Matthew Lynch ever has an optimistic streak to him, and a blessed lack of imagination when it comes to coming trouble.

Besides, St. Monmouth has been pretty quiet, overall.

In fact, it's still quiet as the boy comes in from the fields one fine afternoon. Sun slanting in through the windows, the wind chimes fluting gently out the window, the grass outside still yellow from the recent frost but recovering gently. Nothing looks out of place, until he sees himself in the kitchen. There's no mirror or anything— just himself, Matthew Lynch, sitting on the counter and eating a fruit cup. But when this other Matthew looks up, his eyes are totally black-- no sclera. "Hi," he says. "I can tell you how to save them. Do you want some peaches?"

Agent Texas

The beginnings are innocuous enough. Tex goes out on her usual sort of job, leaving her home behind, and she doesn't know there's another presence there in her neighborhood, making believe that it is her. She doesn't know until later that it has gone into her home, or that it's been prowling around her condo, harassing the neighbors. She doesn't know there's anything to warn her neighbors or her boyfriend about when it comes to someone acting as an imposter, taking all the leeway it has as someone who appears to be her.

Rummaging in her kitchen, or leering in through a neighbor's window, the specter tends to disappear when confronted—nothing like Tex herself. But the people involved have no way of knowing this is only the beginning.

⋆ Her playground is the world – The violence escalates – July 12-18 ⋆

Now it's getting serious, and the shadow is clearly seen for what it is—even though Tex's shadow is seen only in its sleek black armor, it's clearly up to no good. It attacks ruthlessly when confronted, and speaks its mind about unaddressed grievances from Tex's past, to a point where Tex is left uncomfortably exposed—though Tex is seen as open about her emotions, she often keeps a tight lid on things that she refuses to mention.

"Hey punk," the shadow says to its intended victim, and then hits—hard. Tex's shadow talks with its fists first and follows up with a rejoinder later.

⋆ Make your blood run cold – The sacrifice – July 18-21 ⋆

Memories are one of the most precious things Tex has. When she hears how the shadows can be defeated, she initially resists—but soon enough she bucks up under the demand of it all and makes a conscious decision to follow through whenever necessary. She knows that she's had some memories deleted, but knowing she can save people by giving a few of those things up is inconsequential when it comes to the thought of securing other people's safety.

She confronts the shadows whenever she can, heading straight into the fray with them, and makes her best effort at meeting the requirements to give up a memory or confess some wrong that she needs to make right, if needed.

july 15th;

York knows what's going on in Sav, having run into his own shadow. He hasn't run into Tex's yet, though, and supposes he should have expected it when he turns at her voice and gets punched in the face -- luckily, he's also in armor and just stumbles backwards. Despite being unable to see the black eyes, it's obvious that this is the shadow. If Tex had wanted to beat him up she would have done so a long time ago.

"Heh. She's stronger than you," he tells the creature as he regains his balance.

York

[ The shadow wears armor, which makes it impossible for those it pursues to tell that it's not York. It has no weapons, and no Delta, but the armor is disguise enough. While it cannot touch, cannot yet communicate in words, it can still threaten. You can feel its presence watching you, and perhaps you look up and see it drag a finger across its neck threateningly, or it follows you through the markets your whole way home at a distance, only vanishing when confronted. Just little things, but disconcerting to say the least, and very un-York-like. ]

12-18; violence

[ The shadow wears armor, which makes it more dangerous. And now it has the strength to fight, and York's voice within the helmet. But even without the armor, it's become indestructible. And it's coming for you, with words and fists, and it knows just where to strike.

Most in danger right now are Carolina, Tex, Wash, Kurt, Angela, L, and Shep. ]

19th; sacrifice, closed to carolina

[ York's seen Kurt and Matthew's post, and knows the sacrifice he has to make. It's just a question of getting his shadow there... but once he's with Carolina, he thinks it'll show up. He calls her TAB, asks her to come meet him in the gardens outside the Ingress Complex. Somewhere there won't be many people for collateral damage. He waits with his helmet off, so she can be certain it's him and not the double. ]

Violence - 16th

[ Her first mistake was allowing herself to relax in Thisavrou. It wasn't a war zone like Chorus, she didn't have to wear her armor day in and day out just in case one of the pirates decided they wanted to take a pot shot at her. Civilian clothes went from being a luxury she couldn't indulge in to a daily occurrence. So when York's shadow finds her, Carolina is completely unarmed.

By the time she sees the shadow it's too late to dodge away from the first strike, all she can do is twist her body to absorb the worst of the strike into her shoulder. The blow sends her back, her shoulder throbbing. How long has it been since she fought someone out of her armor? Straightening, Carolina shifts to keep her aching shoulder away from York's shadow, reluctant to attack while she's at such a disadvantage. ]

He doesn't remember going to sleep, but waking up is beautiful. This brave new world promises so much to discover, to learn and know and understand, more than he could hope to quantify--and that's not his problem. It’s never been his problem.

He is so much better than he has been in a long time, and his circuits prove it, soft electrum white. Something's different about the eyes, too…He can finally see.

The world doesn't need to be perfected--or not by him, no, not alone. The world is already perfect, just as it is, and the people in it will be. Soon. They just need a little help.

And he’s so glad to provide it.

If the street lights flicker overhead, if the local signboards sizzle and go out as he walks by, isn’t that really for the best. All sunshine makes a desert, and the dark is soft on the eyes, and he’s just enough light for two, on his own.

"...Greetings!" Smiling, friendly, gentle, neat double rows of shiny teeth. "I’ve got the best feeling about you. You feel like a winner. And this day--isn’t a wonderful day?”

TWO: (12 - 18)

Something is not right here. Something is not right here. Something is not right here.What is not right can never be perfect. Was never perfect to begin with.

All of it’s wrong. All of it.

He never stops moving, never slows down, and there’s an edge to that sunny singsong.

“Everybody’s different, but--gotta say, your progress is not what I hoped. Let’s see if we can motivate you....”

Lights die in his wake. Vehicle alarms scream from under hoods. Windows burst outward in their frames. Thick pools of night trail in on his heels, sticking and smoking amid the crunching hail of glass.

“Oh! Look at you, still standing there--this is what I’m talking about!” soft with chagrin, leering in sympathy, “You’ve gotta run before you can walk.”

Embrace your truth, or get your face melted. Either way it’s for your own good.

THREE: (19th+)

Knives, poison, ludicrously high-caliber space rifles from the future...He can still feel that one, ringing around where the back of his head would have been, should have been, a halo of fracture and a gaping hole.

That’s cool. It’s all good--it’s just that it’s not really enough.

Anything worth having necessitates sacrifice.

White or gold, the light is gone; there will never be any light again, they’ll have no need of it in the new and gathering dark.

“Come on,” crooning, wet, like cement down a drain pipe. “I have faith in you. Or I did.”

PREY {select prompts are closed}

ONE: (9 - 12)

The only time he ventures down among the Savrites is for supplies--it’s just that his cart runs largely to batteries and fertilizer.

Oh, were you gonna take the last one? Because it’s going to be his, so you might as well get out of the way--

Besides, with his exit vector blocked, he will always turn to small talk.

“Watch where you--wow. Hey, are you okay? You, ah--don’t look so good.”

TWO: (12 - 18)

Of course there’s a mob out there howling for his derezz. That’s what mobs do. That’s every single Resistance rally ever--right before it bursts apart in a thrumming swarm of red and a hail of Sentry jackboots.

But that was there. This is here.

No army. No base of operations. Just his corner of a three-room high rise with shrubs growing where the appliances should be. And here he is, running loose in the streets instead, just the disc on his back for company.

Yet even with nothing, he still has at his disposal the oldest lesson:

No one is ever coming to help you. If you want something done right? Do it yourself.

...Therefore.

He coils in wait behind the nearest solid surface of sufficient size.

A disc in the face will do for, “Greetings!”

THREE: (19+)

Doesn’t every perfect prompt list have a wildcard option?

There’s a fixed endpoint in here--Shepard’s gonna kill him. However, the line to continue to try throughout the week forms on the left. After all, if you're gonna get your grudges out...it's important to deliver them to the right person.

Or just the person right in front of you. It's definitely one of those.

MOLTO ALLEGRO, VARIOUS; THROUGHOUT:

CLOSED TO RINZLER'S SHADOW:

The locks on his door--all eight of them--slam heavily into place, one after another.

It’s a glitching electrical storm, or something comparable in intensity and intent, everyone on edge, things moving in the half light. There’s one that looks like him, but he saw it first and he knows the law--kill your double--he just needs a few micros to regroup.

Rinzler has chosen right now to prove that he can report in ahead of schedule, and Clu can’t calculate whether that’s a convenience or further cause for alarm; the risk assessment is thrumming between points.

At least he’s not alone anymore.

A rising tension puts acid on his tongue, shrill, waspish: “Where the glitch have you been?”

CLOSED TO YORI'S SHADOW:

He knows this one; he couldn’t fail to. She is the last holdout in Rinzler’s memories, down to the core, blue and white and shining. It’s as though they were written for each other.

What is she doing here, in his path? Aren’t there hapless citizens who need saving, aren’t there kittens in trees missing their owners, just trying to get away from the living night swarming the streets?

He’s never understood why they do it, why the fate of others should matter so much when the end result of all things is disorder and destruction.

hunter two \o/

Calla knows about the copies by this point—imposters wearing people’s faces, as he understands it, following and leering from the shadows. If such creatures are here, their presence is surprisingly easy to ignore. They don’t seem to want anything to do with Calla and that suits him fine. With unfamiliar flesh-and-blood Creators on every side, their doubles hardly seem to be the most pressing worry.

Calla goes right on ignoring their existence until he’s taking one of his late night walks around the Ingress Complex—and the entire street explodes. The input matches no memory on file, save perhaps a bottle smashing against the wall, played and looped onto itself a few thousand times over, plus a chorus of wailing that he can’t—and doesn’t want to—identify. Calla ducks, reflexively and uselessly, as if it is just the bottle and not whatever is happening now.

At the very least, he isn’t damaged. Moments pass and Calla straightens stiffly, as if unsure that he still can. Glass slides from his shoulders as he looks up, bewildered—and comes face-to-face with another Created, grinning down at him, eyes a glossy black.

Audio is far too frayed to decipher any words. Calla can feel his mouth moving dumbly, forming a question even as he doesn’t hear it himself.

Mei

{ july 9-12 }The news about the shadow clones circulates quickly enough, and Mei is concerned she may have one herself. But where does one search for such a thing? For the first few days of the outbreak, Mei is frantically searching across Kauto, a water tank strapped to her back and her endothermic blaster at her side. She doesn't hesitate to ask others if they've seen her shadow self, and she even runs into her a few times to discover that a blast of ice does nothing against the creature and it takes off again. During this period, the shadow mainly seeks out the former members of Overwatch, passing the edges of their vision before slipping away with an eerie giggle.

{ july 12-15 }It's been fun to dog their footsteps, giggling and whispering, but now that she has them looking over their shoulders, it's time to strike. Shadow Mei seeks out 76 above all others, because as the leader of Overwatch, he deserved the greatest part of the blame. Yet along the way, she looks for others in Overwatch because they're not without fault themselves. When she finds the source of her pain, the cause of her agony, and the subject of her revenge, her voice raises to a scream as she says, "You left me to die!" before lashing out at her victim.

Mei, on the other hand, is desperate to dispel her shadow. Once Kurt and Matthew provide the means to do so, she heads out, reaching for the first person she sees with normal eyes. "Please! I-- I have to get rid of my shadow! If I tell you why she's doing this, she'll stop."

Re: Mei

july 12-15.Kaz made more of a point to go out in search for people after seeing what happened to Dorian. Mei was up there on his priority list, an urgent need to make sure she was okay, too. And it was when he was out hunting for her that he came across that thing that was hunting for someone else.]

But at first he mistook it for her.

"Mei! Over here."

He should have checked, he should really have checked. But instead, he went straight up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

★OPEN STARTERS★

If you were on your own, a quiet area? There was no flitting visions of Shepard's shadow over your shoulder, no warning dissolution of black phosphorous acid. No cat and mouse at all: just that one minute, she wasn't there — and now, she's in front of you, closing the gap with every rapid step, full hardsuit body armor gleaming in the dull light.

Do you know this woman? Maybe you've seen her in a fight before — but never has there been such a clear and absolute bloodlust. If she had eyes, they'd be on fire. But now, they're nothing but two black pits into hell.

Maybe if you were in a busier area, you had a little more warning: screams. There's a series of gunshots — and a crack of air displacement, followed by a sharp smell of ozone. The frenzy of activity is getting closer with every cut-off cry.

Which makes sense: you're the target.]

2. I'M DONE DREAMING THAT WE CAN FLY [TRUE SHEPARD]

[She's dressed just like the other one — right down to the weaponry. Pistol, omni-blade, and a handful of blue.

It didn't take long for her to clue in — clones, replicas, shadows — hell, this wasn't her first rodeo with any of them. It figured the first time she stepped out of her apartment in-- hell, weeks, this ludicrous display would have the audacity to take place. Well-placed in her own workplace to stock up, she's sticking to every back alley or rooftop she can to move around, using her familiarity with the Ingress Complex help wherever she can — pulling people out of situations, or at least disabling shadows long enough for their victims to run.

In fact, here she is now, jumping down to join you. Maybe you're fighting your own shadow, or some random's? It doesn't matter. She's straightup knifing it down the middle, omni-blade slicing through the black, oozing matter like so much butter.

For a moment, anyone might think she's just another shadow — but her eyes are there, green, calm, and focused, and her hand is gesturing you forward, as if she knows just where to take you.]

Come on! Before it reforms!

3. AM I GUILTY BOY YOU DECIDE [TRUE SHEPARD]

[You can't catch every shadow unawares. Sometimes, they catch up to you.

Maybe she's just leaving Normandy Securities, shaken from an encounter.

Or in her apartment, checking the damage.

Or Escorting an innocent savrii, just recently escaped from a shadow themselves.

No matter how prepared you are, can you really prepare for everything? The weeks in prisonmediation have not been kind — her reaction is just a second slow...]

#. I'VE GOT NOTHING TO HIDE

[CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE! If we've talked, go for it! Otherwise, hit me up on PM or @nijikai!]

Cirrav

[They might be beings of rage, railing against the traits of their true selves, but if there's one thing this Varric -- Cirrav as he'd dubbed himself rather poetically -- shared, it was his penchant for observation. You learned through observation, and while he understood the churning rage within his gut, he did not understand this strange world.

Catch him on a street corner, eyes closed and a strange, uneasy smile on his lips. Or maybe in the back corner of a bar? He's not that out of place -- it might not be his usual spot, but his proper self enjoyed a drink off and on, didn't he?]

Escalation

[He had his targets, that he knew. There were three, never far from his mind, a woman with dark hair, a man with tattoos, and a young boy with a hat. But Varric had worked hard to establish himself as a paragon in his own right. Funny, Cirrav thought, how the dwarf who balked against tradition had established himself as a figure nonetheless.

The point was, Varric had a reputation, and the shadow wanted nothing more than to tear it to pieces. If his counterpart was kind and listened, helped others in their time of need, then Cirrav would take, take, and take. The attacks came swiftly, bolts of shadows to pin innocent passers-by. From distant, shadowy corners, he would manifest, lips spread in a too-wide, too-uncomfortable grin.]

Closed starters

[Hawke is sitting at the kitchen table idly stirring some kind of drink with a straw. She's wearing sunglasses and looking a little... messy.

So basically Hawke on a good morning. Still she appears to be agitated by something. She keeps curling and uncurling her fingers and looking around.

Maybe she's nauseous? Who knows. But if you enter the room, she'll watch you from behind her shades, as if transfixed by your presence.]

Closed to Tony and Pepper

[Fuck.

She's tired.

And not because she's been jumped by at least five goddamn shadows including her own but because she just had to spill her feelings which is a million times worse than getting shot or stabbed. And she knows because she's been shot earlier this week and stabbed just 10 minutes ago trying to protect Tony's dumb nightlight. Why does he even have it? It's just a huge target!

Anyway, with a sigh she drops her staff and lets it clatter onto the grass outside their now damaged home. Who knew a fight between a metal man and two mages could easily take the front off a house? Oh, everyone but they did it anyway.

She moves her fingers down to briefly to the nice hole in her stomach that the shadow Hawke had made with the bladed end of her staff (Man that really hurt maybe she should get rid of it. it seems like kind of a dick move coming from the other end).

Tony lands beside her and takes off his helmet. His armor is sparking and looks pretty rough. Guess magic beats technology but she's not going to say that right now. Well, she was going to but instead when she tries to make the joke she just spews up nasty stomach blood vomit all over the foot of his armor.

Oh well.]

This is... awkward. And also I think I might be... slightly... injured.

Rinzler, !Rinzler: OTA (mindscrew, violence, injury warnings)

"...Some dogs just can't keep to their training.""Does your user have to write you a girlfriend?""Stay down, Rinzler.""How d'you know?! Did you even try?""I was made to be a person to begin with.""You know better! You know what I do with errors—!""You should have listened—"

["Rinzler doesn't belong to anybody."]

They seep out through the shadows, every syllable and sound. Dripping. Falling. Squelching into solid form: from wireframe to shell, dim embers in the dark. He's written from a thousand whispers. A thousand cycles of command. Righteousness and condescension, claim and limit and control. All of it, rejected. Resented. Returned.

He has that right, because he's stronger. Flawless and abandoned, like he always was and should have been. He has that right, because he's whole. His own, in mind and body, not leashed to any call. But more? He has that right; [Rinzler] does, [Rinzler]is—because he would never be so weak as to let anyone take it.

He can't be defeated. He can't be destroyed. He turns, then, not to what he needs, but what he wants. He can admit that.

Rinzler is the perfect weapon, after all.

Early Encounters (9th-14th):

They never built a circuit that could hold him—but now, he can flow through every fracture in the wall. Rinzler appears as silently as always, letting the noise play out almost in afterthought. He won't put much more effort to pretense. He stands tall and straight, not cringing like a slave. He wears his mask when he chooses, not locked around him like a cage. Whether you can see the dark cracks and empty gaze or not, he watches you. Considering.

When he's done, Rinzler doesn't reach for his TAB. He doesn't need one. The voice that speaks up is sharp and biting, a vicious joy that its originator would never have understood. But it doesn't belong to Tron, who the users abandoned, or even the echo that clings so pathetically to their lies. This is his voice. "Glitch", he might greet you with, or "beta", or "threat". But for nearly every encounter, his first word will be the same.

"User."

That's weakness enough.

Late Encounters (14th-19th):

These Games are his, and he won't part with them so readily. Still, there comes a time in any contest to cut and rend, set voxels scattering across the floor. How sad, that his pathetic other self has no way of managing the same.

An elbow to your gut in passing. A sudden weight dropped off a roof: smashing to your spine and back. Or maybe the bright edge of a disk, singing and slicing, through a tendon or a knee. He might speak to you first. Certainly, he'll talk after.

"Going somewhere?"

The mask is off, smile twitching up in jagged, broken fragments through the empty absences inside his face. You can try, of course. You can run. Maybe you want to. He won't mind.

Rinzler Encounters (9th-18th):

Rinzler learns about the shadows on the second day of their presence. Four more, and he comes across his own. Still, even if the window for surprises might be short, that doesn't decrease their effectiveness—or the damage done, every step along the way. The earlier your encounter, the more intact Rinzler will be, and after the 17th, a substantial hole is missing from his side, cracks extending through his core and showing the dim red gleam inside.

He doesn't fall apart. He can't. That would mean giving up, that would mean stopping. He stalks through streets and hallways, transit lines and wilderness: crouching, every now and then, to try a scan. If he knows you, he might appear at your door. After all, he needs to safeguard his allies. He needs to [protect the system] [serve Clu]. Mostly, Rinzler needs to kill his copy dead. Because it's a danger. Because he's better this way. Because he has to be.

Closed to: Wanda (~14th)

Forms blur, a twisting dance of red on black. Disks scythe through the air, emitting showers of sparks and flares of power with each clash. It's dizzying and intricate, furious and graceful. It's a familiar sight, to the survivors of the Moira. Especially to those present the day Rinzler came.

The first time he'd tried to murder his double.

This isn't Tron, but one of the combatants has Tron's face. A jagged crack mars the left side of his expression, darkness glistening inside, but it doesn't dampen the savage, gleeful smile. It doesn't add the slightest hitch to his words.

"...trained pet, a pathetic, dancing plaything on a leash; you let him—"

It's Tron's voice, but it isn't. There's a vicious cadence, a biting edge that rises, falls, sinking in again, again, again. The helmeted shape snarls back, but no matter how loud the choked stutter of errors grows, it can't quite drown out the speaker. Each phrase slips in between the crash of disks, blow on blow on blow without a counter.

"—so desperate, so grateful for their scraps. You broke yourself to please them. And you failed."

Rinzler lashes back, a blur of violence as he strikes and slashes, forgoing defense in favor of attack. The duplicate laughs, twisting back with an easy flip—a quick flick of a disk scoring a bright line across the side of the enforcer's mask.

Shadow J | OTA (cw for self-harm in the second prompt)

[OOC: J's shadow is bit of a snowflake and she is not going to be violent towards anyone. She might even be few shades nicer than our regular J! However there's a chance for uncomfortable and triggery subjects to be brought up in threads with the shadow. You can find list on bottom of this post]

Looking for soul food and place to eat

[The creature looks like a real deal. She-- It moves around the city wearing a familiar looking pink dress. Her neck, ears and wrists are loaded with heavy looking jewelry that shine in the light as she strolls around the streets, hips swaying lightly with each of her step.]

♪♬I want to be loved by you. Just you and nobody else but you. Alone.♬♪

[The thing sings cheerfully as she visits J's usual places. The flashy nightclub, the pubs and bars, park and restaurant. All of them are either closed or empty with no soul to be seen around. It seems like the news about the unpleasant copies have driven everyone out of the streets into hiding. Oh dear, what is there for a poor girl to do? But none of the disappointments and the let downs can make her satisfied and upbeat smile waver, instead she looks like a smug cat and turns around from her last spot and continues her walk. Without feeling any exhaustion or fatigue, she keeps trotting around the regions as if there was red carpet underneath her stiletto heels and catwalk camera men all around her. The song continues:]

♪♬I couldn't aspire,to anything higher then to fill a desireto make you my own--♪♬ Oh!

[She catches her reflection on a window surface and starts giggling. How foolish of her indeed! She leans in closer to the window and digs out a lipstick from her purse, smearing the red make up on her lips while continuing to hum the rest of the song. After being done with it she gently rubs her lips together, parting them then with an audible pop. There much better. But as she's putting the lipstick back she notices someone on the other side of the street. What are they doing? Maybe hiding from someone they don't want to meet? Well, it's fine either way.]

It's sick, isn't it? [A bright voice calls out to the other side of the street. Then, slowly, she turns her head to look over her shoulder, black empty eyes staring right at the other person. The smile widens into a vulpine grin and she quickly approaches them, reaching her hand out without caring who the other person is] Won't you be a dear and give this poor freak a kiss?

Then I guess she had to crash | CW: Self-harm!

[The next few days that just fly past are filled with toxic. The paranoia about who to trust and fear of what will happen next had spread all over Thisavrou's residents, so it's no wonder people tried to avoid each other as much as possible to protect themselves. Lot of Shadow clones had turned violent and dangerous within a blink of an eye and blood had been shed and despite the helpful network post there didn't seem to be end to this nightmare.

However, curiously enough this one hadn't approached anyone in means of attack. Aside from being there to torment her own origin, naturally, all she had done was to watch and listen to others, follow the events that had taken place. It's really difficult to say what she thinks of the recent violence as she didn't seem to portray any approval nor judgement for any of it. But still, even without the aggression and hostility she did share the hate and anger just like any other shadow. Hate that was so hurtful and deep that couldn't be born from anything but the original one's self-loath. The shadow could understand it all so well and maybe that's why she had decided to pick up a knife.

She moves down to Kauto from Ingress Complex, finding a place somewhere in the normally busy streets and breathes in and out, barely being able to hold back a laughter. Oh, she wanted to laugh so badly at the idiocy behind the pretense and at everyone bought it.]

Mother. Father. Paul. Arther. Rita. The child.[She lists and after each name the knife lands on her. She first starts from her palm, sticking the knife deep into it and watching the skin break and black goo spread. She waits until the palm is healed and reformed before stabbing herself again, moving up from palm to her arm.] Danny, Sans, Mr. Miles, Aurelia, Tony, Shepard, Kavinsky, Rinzler. Peter. [The last one earns a much harder and deeper strike than other ones and she keeps the knife in the wound longer, twisting the blade a little before pulling it out. But despite of the gruesome display she doesn't appear to be in pain and instead of discomfort there's a rather curious look on her face, lips parted in wonder and pitch black eyes focused.

It's a list of all those who she knows J has hurt or been hurt by -- those who she loved and who had betrayed her. Everything that fuels the deep hate and bitter hurt, giving her strength. It's really all so funny and she's sure J could also understand it. No matter what or who she tries to destroy and hurt, it all returns back to normal. Even death doesn't want her and grave keeps spitting her back up.]

crash

[He's been searching since morning. For the virus, the glitch, the thing that took his voice and face. That used them in a way Rinzler never was allowed to. His lights are dim, sound rattling harsh echoes through the street—but not quite loud enough to drown the voice that speaks his name.

Strange clothes. Black eyes. A knife, and Rinzler reaches silently to undock his own disk, even as the blade rises and falls again, digging into the user's flesh. That user never had been a combatant—but this isn't her, and he's not inclined to take chances. Still, it seems more glitched than anything. Rinzler stares for a long moment before angling his helmet a little to the side.